The Rose
by MelpomeneTears
Summary: Alistair contemplates the rose he picked in Lothering.


He rubbed his thumb over the soft velvety texture; the veins standing out starkly against the rich and vibrant red of the petals. He stared at the perfect bud, opened just enough to show its full beauty. How had it stayed so fresh looking, laying in his pack with all his equipment?

Somehow it had endured, and looked impossibly even more beautiful than when he had plucked it from the grey and twisted rose bush behind the Chantry. The color seemed sharper, brighter, deeper than before.

A small smile touched his lips as he sat on the boulder on the outskirts of the clearing where they had set up their camp for the evening. His Sareyna seemed more beautiful to him everyday. She was like the rose in so many ways.

Plucked from a place of death and destruction, clinging to life somehow despite so much death around her. He thumbed the petals again gently, "I bet her skin is just as soft." He inhaled the scent of the rose, remembering how sweet Sareyna's skin always smelled after she had bathed.

He turned the rose idly in his hands, almost staring through it, wandering further into his thoughts. "Ouch" he jerked his hand and saw a bright pin prick of blood, the same color as the rose. His smiled curved crookedly across his face again.

Yes, she was prickly too, the woman he thought he was falling in love with. She had a volatile temper when she was pushed too far, and she slaughtered Darkspawn by the scores, yelling epithets at them and shouting with excitement as they fell beneath her whirling blades. No shrinking violet she. Where he was timid she was bold, where he was cautious, she was decisive. She was the counter balance he needed in his life.

Though his heart raced, pounding a crazy staccato in his chest when she smiled, she helped him feel calm. Being near her seemed to ease his grief at all he had lost; she made him believe they could defeat the Blight with so few Wardens.

He felt the heaviness of regret flow over him. He and Duncan had condemned her to a shortened life, as if plucking a rose from a thriving bush. She would be beautiful and on display and then she would slink into the Deep Roads, wilted and discarded. Alistair shook his head, trying to dislodge such dark thoughts. He needed to concentrate on all the happy years they could have together still, if only he said something to her.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw her lying near the fire reading. He felt his pulse pick up at the sight of her. He struggled, daily, through the butterflies in his stomach to match her teasing tone, to be as witty as the day they first met in Ostagar. He twirled the flower again, loving the swirling patterns of the petals. If only his thoughts could form such a perfect pattern.

He sighed deeply. "It doesn't matter." He knew that even if he found the perfect words that he would fumble, struggling with his words while she stood there with her slight smirk. "Ah, if only I could have such grace or eloquence. She always seems to know what to say."

He focused again on the rose; so rich and vibrant. The rose summed up so many things he thought about her. He knew she might possibly hurt him, break his heart. But he couldn't stop himself, maybe to be worthy to have someone that special in your life you had to risk a little pain. Picking a perfect rose is not without its dangers.

He glanced over his shoulder again; making sure the others had already turned in for the night. He was glad to see only Shale and Sareyna's Mabari, Pentheryn, would see him utterly humiliate himself. He slid forward on the rock a bit and stood up.

"This time I'm really going to do it." He started towards Sareyna, glancing between her and the rose. He nodded and thought. _"This is it, it's the right sentiment."_ He strode quickly to her side, shoving down the whispers that said she was going to laugh at him. He would do this before he lost his nerve.

He sat down next to her. _"Good, it will be harder to turn tail and run if I'm on the ground in plate."_

Sareyna looked up from her book and sat up, a smile already on her lips. "Hey, where were you? I missed you. My hair is still in tangles." Her grin broke out wider at the mention of their little personal ritual.

Alistair swallowed hard, his blood was pounding in his ears and his stomach was in knots. He grabbed Sareyna's wrist, willing himself to stay where he was. He could feel himself sweating.

Sareyna's smile faltered, "Are you alright?"

"_Holy Maker, why is this so hard? You already know she likes you, you dolt."_ Alistair thought, immediately followed by, _"What if she's offended, or it's too soon?"_ He was sitting right next to her, mouth partially opened as stared at her, caught like a frightened Halla in her gaze. Suddenly he thrust the hand clutching the rose out in front of him. "Hey, guess what this is."

Sareyna looked and saw the rose in his hand and smiled, not a mocking smile. She looked happy. Alistair's mind suddenly started to refocus. His trip hammering heart seemed to quiet a little. His smile slipped easily in place to mirror hers. Maybe the Blight wouldn't be so horrible after all; not with his Amazonian queen by his side.


End file.
